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[2007: MAY-JUN] An Ocean of Tears

Clase Drene

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Screaming and streaming tears of emotional pain braking in sight of life's end when there is nothing more to do but cry. The crying rooms of pain, over and over hurting and being hurt by ourselves when there is not one thing left for us to become inside the ever expanding circles of sky and light we ride. Where does the river of tears flow but to the ocean of sorrow when the night meets the day and the daylight dies inside the hollow feeling of empty pain? Crying and trying we moved together to the next field of expressions where there are new things so important that nothing matters yet the pain remains intense like hanging from the cliffs edge and then falling to abyss. Night opens its life to them. They stopped speaking to the wind and crying to sky, like a baby that knows no comfort there, or wherever the baby will sleep.

Puddles and puddles of tears more then the oceans would ever know… Pain like dying for no reason but just to die. And then still, but moving further, into the pain of emotional loss emotions that are shattered like the thought of love and the likeliness of a remorseful reunion where there is never the mention of love again like it was then. Went through the expressions that ever were and ever will become. Although sometimes there is companionship, sometimes the companion is just another lost cause for everything that we can know, and is nothing of importance and nothing of matter. It just becomes pointless in the sight of life and the end of being lost inside a mind that does not love, a mind that never knew it self as anything that it ever was. When there is everything that has been and gone again too, and still finding no life worthy of living inside my being as this will free me to be nothing. I tremble to find when there is everything lost to everyone's touch like my pieces that break as they find themselves. They are in turn then into themselves when things change into the future of forgotten thoughts and ideas that will never meet pen to paper - keyboard to screen.

Following the ever spiraling streams of tears the river refuses to carry down the stream to be free of life and love yet the courage of being becomes the edge of the cliff for stepping off of as in the dream of life's endless endings and beginnings. The path opens and closes with each blink of an eye as the sky flees to the other side of known reason and understood meanings. Running through the fields of perfect rustic red hues we fly like dreams of the unfolding pleats of peddles of rose and her buds of new life. Trusting in the events in three they perform undone in the light of lives long gone and seen through the impressions of thoughts that remain behind the rainbows of love, gone so fast that freaking out is not optional for even a moment of being real. What meaning does the three ways of truth make us of our thoughts as often enough, to know why? But should we ask such over obvious questions that their eventual effect will force us to ask the way out again and again instead of the way to be of thought in a mind of honest freedom in sight of the light of goodness in loves own path.

It ripped thru the very heart of hearts the very life of lives the very being essence of beings but that was expected like all broken hearts that never heal and never know how to heal themselves wondering why did the chance to love get taken by life's own fault of being real. Finding nothing of value or importance, inside the presence of thoughts, inside the few free enough to know how to love we find death so proudless that even the word sake makes no meaning of it. We know how to live and be of the essence of life itself as if there were other ways to be of essence and free. So we will open our heart over and over till it beats no further, knows nothing else, but life's ocean of tears, and broken thoughts of foundless fortune. We cry and the river dries and the streams freezes in cold ice of the summers of night when their sadness is expressed in the effort of life's without end or beginning that remembers neither and accepts both in turn of the true wheel of peace. What has taken in the thought of firry rings lining the level and leveling the life of all who were broken in the misuse of violent and abusive mixtures of hurt and pain live into and of the will that is done of ourselves in existences so obscured from being and lost in a life time of wonder.

The EX-pain of explaining what is expected of the pain of life and death and greed of love and existences poor choice of words that mean to three way thought propagation inside ones eyes and exists there by remembering we are there where all things act in time and observe the space that coats the flow of everything. I still cry hopelessly for the pain to return to the sore, the sky to break the ocean to the floor with its mighty roar. But Ex the pain out of the brain when there is time for things to brew into other brains shared like life is shared between; the rake and the raked; the clear and cleared; the stream and the streams of blissless points on a graph of round totems that alike themselves there own way to say what is wrong and with the same thing in tides under the stars of life. Ours is a way of peace and love yet mutual tolerance becomes more then just the farce or fantasy that it ever was mutual commendations and the enjoyment of being a happy being. Included in the thought of crazy crying fits of rage and remorse come the opinion that jokes know that there are questions for clowns to brood over in mania as the depression of life's losing wit of relationship in a roller coasting love hexing into the form of how do you know or what did you think.

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